


The World Beyond the Forest

by xenoglossy



Category: Wooden Girl ~Thousand Year Wiegenlied~ - Akuno-P (Song)
Genre: F/F, Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-05 00:31:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1798924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenoglossy/pseuds/xenoglossy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A forest spirit becomes a human to grant a lonely girl's wish for a friend, but as they search for a place to belong, they stumble into something that might mean their destruction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The World Beyond the Forest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VampirePaladin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VampirePaladin/gifts).



> Though I have at least a passing familiarity with parts of the Evillious Chronicles beyond this song, the universe as a whole is just so intimidatingly large, and even the parts relevant to this particular subplot span quite a few songs, as well several novels which aren't readily available outside of Japan. As such, I've tossed all that out the window and based this story solely on the lyrics of this one song. I hope you enjoy it!

The wood-witch had been talking to the tree spirits daily for longer than she liked to think about, and she'd thought she'd heard it all. There wasn't much variation, usually—disputes over territory and resources, concerns about encroaching human settlements, a whole lot of talk about the weather.

This, however... this was new.

"You want to be a human," she repeated slowly, as if to make sure that she'd heard right, though she was fairly certain her hearing wasn't going just yet. "Whatever for?"

"There's a human girl who comes to this grove every day," the spirit said, "and she seems... lonely. And I thought, if I could only talk to her... but she can't speak to us like you do."

"Hmph," said the witch. "That's the most sentimental bit of nonsense I've ever heard from a tree."

"Please," said the spirit. "If anyone can do it, it's you." A breeze blew through her branches, which bent towards the witch as if in supplication.

The witch considered. Really, the whole idea was ridiculous. But it was a challenge, and it had been a while since the witch had had a challenge.

"I'll see what I can do," she said.

For the next several days, the witch sat in her cottage and pored over her books, making notes and muttering to herself under her breath. It was a shame that she couldn't really test out any of her methods; it wouldn't do to go transforming half the trees in the forest into people just for practice. She would have to hope that thorough research would be enough.

Finally, when she'd read all the books she could usefully read and made all the notes she could usefully make and was reasonably certain that she wouldn't tear too many holes in the fabric of reality if things went wrong, she returned to the spirit's tree.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" she asked, one last time.

"I'm sure," said the spirit.

So the witch scratched a diagram in the dirt of the forest floor, then shut her eyes and focused.

She felt the power flow through her, through the earth, into the spirit's tree, and finally into the spirit herself. It felt like it took only a moment, but when she opened her eyes again, the slant of the light through the trees told her that hours had gone by. Then the exhaustion hit her all at once, and it was all she could do not to collapse to the ground like an empty sack.

But it had worked. Where the tree had stood, there was now a young woman examining her own limbs with an air of astonishment, looking for all the world like an ordinary human being. Well, except for the green hair, but the witch thought that under the circumstances, if that was the worst flaw in the transformation, that was a victory. Besides, it was rather striking.

The spirit, or rather, former spirit, waved her arms, stretched out one leg and then the other, clenched and unclenched her hands. Then she looked up at the witch with a wide smile. "Thank you!" she said.

The witch looked at her. There she was, knowing little of how to feed and shelter her new body in the forest and even less of how to enter the world of humans—completely unprepared, in other words, to survive in the form she now occupied. And whose fault was this? Who was the old fool who should have known better than to meddle with a transformation of this magnitude?

The former spirit cocked her head and frowned slightly. "Are you all right?"

"The sun will be setting soon," the witch said. "I suppose you'd better come home with me."

* * *

 

"Really, Bianca, I don't know _what_ is going to become of you."

Bianca kept her gaze fixed on the floor and said nothing.

"I give you a task so simple any child in this village could do it, and yet even that is too much for you, is it?"

"I'm sorry, Mother," Bianca said, not looking up.

"What are you going to do when I'm gone? It would be hard enough to find a man who would marry a woman with your looks who was a perfect housewife, let alone one who can't even bring the eggs in from the henhouse without smashing every single one."

Bianca picked a shard of eggshell off of her skirt. She could have mentioned the gaggle of boys who had tripped her and laughed as the basket of eggs broke her fall with a sickening crunch. She could have said _You know no man in this village would have me anyway, Mother, so why bother trying to please them?_ She could have run from the room. But what good would any of it do? She bit her lip and tried to swallow the familiar lump that was forming in her throat.

Her mother heaved an exaggerated sigh. "Haven't you got anything to say for yourself, then?"

"No, Mother," she said, willing her voice not to crack.

"Well, then, if you can't make yourself useful, I suppose you'd better run off somewhere where you won't be in the way. There's still the cockerels to take to market, but you'd probably find some way to break those, too."

"If you'd like me to, I could—"

"No, no, I'll do it myself," her mother said, in long-suffering tones. "Really, it was my fault about the eggs; I was expecting too much of you. Go on, now—I have a lot of work to do, and you'll only make a nuisance of yourself."

"Thank you," Bianca mumbled, and fled the house.

She was in tears before she reached the edge of the forest, and by the time she got to the clearing with the ancient tree, she was sobbing. So she almost didn't realize that she wasn't alone. But then a sudden movement caught her eye, even through the tears, and she turned to face the intruder.

 _So they finally found it,_ she thought. A cold, sick feeling formed in her stomach and spread through her body, though at least it dried up the tears.

Then, a moment late, a realization struck her: she didn't recognize this girl at all. She couldn't be from the village—if there were anyone there with coloring odder than Bianca's own, Bianca would certainly know about it.

"Who are you?" The question came out more demanding than Bianca had intended. "That is, I'm sorry, but I've never seen you before, and- and we so rarely get visitors all the way out here, and..." She trailed off, feeling a flush of embarrassment rise to her cheeks. Doubtless the other girl could see it too; as pale as Bianca's skin was, she never could hide these things.

But the other girl just smiled, apparently unconcerned. "I'm Melia," she said. "I live here in the forest."

"You do? But... then how is it that I've never run into you before now?"

"Maybe you have," Melia suggested.

Bianca shook her head. "I would definitely remember meeting someone with green hair." There she went, being rude again—what if it was a sensitive subject? She, of all people, should know better than that. "I mean- not to say that it's- I just think it's lovely, that's all." That hadn't been the best recovery; she decided she had better stop talking now, before she dug herself any deeper.

"Thanks!" Melia said. "I like yours, too."

Bianca flinched. Was it mockery? A polite lie?

"It's like the moon," Melia went on.

"Very funny," said Bianca. "Though at least it's original."

"Funny?" Melia's brow furrowed. "Why would it be funny?"

She couldn't be serious, could she? Then again, if anyone could say that sort of thing and mean it, it would probably be a girl with green hair.

Bianca let her breath out slowly. "I'm sorry. It's just that I know my appearance is... unusual, and so I'm not used to compliments."

"How is it unusual?"

Maybe Melia was making fun of her after all. "Have you ever met anyone else with hair and skin like mine?"

"I don't meet a lot of people here in the woods. I only know you and the witch, and her hair is also white. Although she doesn't look much like you otherwise."

"The witch?"

"Yes, she's the one who gave me this human body."

Bianca frowned. "She's... your mother?"

"No, no, I was a spirit before, but she transformed me."

"I see," said Bianca, deciding that this was the sort of thing it was better not to question. "Anyway, if you really don't know, most people think the way I look is bad luck or some sort of curse—that _I'm_ bad luck or cursed, because of it. So I'm... not used to getting compliments, and that was why I thought you were joking. I'm sorry."

"Oh," said Melia. "Well, that's ridiculous."

Bianca only wished she could dismiss the whole thing so easily. Still, this strange girl's complete indifference was refreshing. "Thank you," she said.

There was a moment's silence. Then Melia said, "Oh, by the way, if you'd like to wash your dress off, there's a stream not too far from here that I could show you."

Bianca had almost forgotten the egg white and yolk slowly forming a crust on her skirt. "You're right, I had better clean this up before it dries," she said. Perhaps her mother would be pleased that she'd done it—and if it was, in part, an excuse to keep talking to Melia, that was no one's business but her own.

* * *

When Bianca went back to the woods the next day, Melia was there again. After that, they began making plans to meet, at first once or twice a week, then almost every day. They spent hours together in the woods, exploring amongst the trees, picking flowers, wading in streams, watching the deer. Once they tried braiding the flowers into one another's hair, although neither quite knew how to do it and in the end they simply lay there in the grass, laughing, the flowers strewn around them where they had fallen. It was all a bit childish, perhaps, but as a child, Bianca had never had the opportunity to do childish things, or at least she'd had no one to do them with.

Each time Bianca went into the forest, it was harder to make herself return to the village, where all the laughter was mocking and hardly anyone spoke to her, though they whispered to each other as she passed. Melia also seemed disappointed when Bianca had to leave; it was hard to tell, since she was so cheerful usually, but Bianca began to suspect she was just as lonely, in her way.

Bianca daydreamed for a while of simply staying in the forest; perhaps she and Melia could have a cottage among the trees somewhere, and never go into the village again, and live by... foraging for berries? Trapping rabbits? Bianca had to admit, in the end, that she wasn't sure how any of that would work. And besides, sooner or later someone she knew would come into the forest in pursuit of a deer or some firewood or some such, and they'd find her, and it would all be over. No, she had to get farther away.

One day a travelling merchant passed through the village, and Bianca's mother sent her off with a handful of coins to obtain a bolt of cloth, "if he's not too afraid that it's bad luck to take money from you—and if you don't lose it on the way there."

As the women looked over his wares, chattering amongst themselves about fabrics and dishware and pretending that Bianca wasn't there at all, the merchant entertained a few curious children with tales of the capital, whence he had just come. His tales of the great palace at the heart of the city, the royal processions through the streets, and the balls attended by fine ladies and gentlemen in exquisitely tailored clothing (some of which was made, he claimed, from fabrics he himself had sold to the dressmakers) didn't catch Bianca's attention; she had never been able to imagine herself a princess. Nor was she especially interested in the rumors (doubtless exaggerated) of the queen's terrible temper and tendency to throw people in the dungeons or have them beheaded for the pettiest of reasons. But when he began talking of the streets teeming with people from all over the country, and even from distant lands across the sea, with all kinds of strange customs and appearances, she began listening more closely. It sounded like the sort of place where even she could get lost in the crowd.

As the days passed, Bianca found herself returning again and again to thoughts of the city, and before she knew it, she had half convinced herself that she could make a life for herself there, far away from this village and her mother and anyone who knew her.

But then again, there was Melia.

Bianca hadn't planned on telling Melia anything until she'd come to a decision, until she had something more resembling a plan than a daydream. But she had never been good at hiding her feelings.

"What's wrong?" Melia asked one afternoon, as they sat under a tree sharing some bread and cheese that Bianca had smuggled out of her mother's cupboard. "You've been so quiet lately."

"Nothing is _wrong_ , exactly, just... I've been thinking of going to the city," Bianca said, looking down at her lap and focusing intently on tearing a bit of bread into smaller and smaller pieces. "Getting away from this awful village forever. But I keep thinking, well—I would hate to leave you behind."

"You wouldn't have to leave me behind," Melia said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I could come with you."

"Really?" Bianca said, halfway feeling like she must have heard wrong. "You seem so happy here..."

"I am, but I might be happy in the city, too. I don't know the outside world at all. I want to see what it's like—with you."

So it was settled.

* * *

 

Living in the city was harder than Melia had expected. Not that they were starving on the streets; after only a few days of looking, Bianca had gotten them both jobs as servants in the palace itself, which paid little, but gave them both food and a roof over their heads. Learning to live like a human was difficult—how to work for a living, how to manage money, how to talk to people who weren't Bianca—but that wasn't what really bothered her, either. It wasn't even the stuffy dresses she had to wear, or the fact that she had to keep her hair up under a kerchief or a cap all the time so that no one would notice its odd color.

No, the problem was the city itself. It was full of stone and brick, and all the wood was long-dead. Inside the palace, the air was stale and stagnant, and even outside, it was... different. It didn't smell right, didn't feel right.

Bianca seemed happy, though. She scrubbed and swept and dusted and polished with a smile, humming to herself, for all the world as though she couldn't think of anything she would rather be doing. She never complained of the long hours or the difficult work, much less of the smell of the air or the composition of the walls. She even managed to strike up a friendly acquaintance with some of the other servants, though there were still a few who wouldn't speak to her. And so Melia tried to be happy for her, or at least to keep her own unhappiness to herself.

By the end of her second week at the palace, however, it had gotten to be too much for her. Lying in her tiny room in the servant's wing, sleepless and far too aware of the closeness of the walls, she felt the homesickness sweep through her like wildfire.

Melia had seen humans cry before, but she had never done so herself; the sensation of warm salt water spilling from her eyes was strange and uncomfortable. She turned onto her side and buried her face in the thin, hard pillow, hoping to muffle the sound and not wake Bianca.

She heard a rustling of sheets, then felt a hand on her shoulder. "What's wrong?" Bianca asked, softly.

"I miss the forest," Melia found herself saying, before she could think better of it.

"Oh, no, I'm sorry! I didn't mean... that is..." Bianca hesitated. "You don't have to stay, if you'd rather not."

Melia sat up. "I'm not going to leave you here alone! It's only that I've never been away before, and it's so different. I'll get used to it." But the tears still welling up in her eyes gave the lie to her attempt to put a brave face on things.

Bianca didn't say anything more; perhaps she didn't know what to say. But she sat with Melia until Melia stopped crying and drifted off to sleep.

When Melia awoke the next morning—Sunday, their only day off—Bianca wasn't there, which worried her. Since coming to the city, neither one had gone anywhere without telling the other first. But worrying would do her no good, so she tried to put it from her mind as she washed, dressed, and went down to the kitchen for breakfast.

When she returned to her room after breakfast, the first thing she noticed was the scent of flowers.

"I'm sorry, I know it's not the same as having something that's actually growing," Bianca said, setting a bunch of wildflowers in a chipped mug on the windowsill and then gathering another bunch from the sizable pile on her bed. "But at least they're fresh. The flower-seller at the marketplace said they were just picked this morning, so they should last a few days, at least."

Melia didn't know what to say, so she didn't say anything—just threw her arms around Bianca and then went to help her find places for the rest of the flowers.

* * *

The palace was abuzz with news of Prince Kai of Athysia's impending visit. Some were talking of the politics of the event—there had been tension, Melia learned, between their two kingdoms, something about trade and disputes over resources that Melia couldn't quite follow. The palace gossips thought that the prince might be coming to arrange a marriage with the queen, which would, apparently, solve a great deal of problems.

Most of the staff, however, was more interested in the week of festivities that the visit would bring. Bianca was no exception; she had been selected as one of the servers at the welcome banquet, and she was to have a nice new dress for it, and would at least get to watch the dancing and listen to the music.

"And with any luck, some of the fancy food will be left for us once the guests have had their fill of it! Anyway, it will make a nice change from doing the laundry and scrubbing the floors—" Bianca stopped abruptly. "Oh, no, I'm sorry! Here I've been babbling on about the banquet, and you're not going to be there."

"It's all right," said Melia. "Anyway, I'll have part of the evening off, and you'll be working all that time. So we're even, really."

Bianca laughed a little. "I suppose we are."

On the night of the banquet, Melia's duties were officially completed at seven o'clock, and so she let down her hair, took off her apron, and made her way to the garden. The palace gardens were forbidden ground for servants—except the gardeners, of course—but with all the household at the banquet, who would notice? And it was nice, every once in a while, to be surrounded by growing things.

She sat on a stone bench surrounded by trees, and breathed in the scent of earth and bark and leaves. It wasn't quite the same as home, but it was lovely, nonetheless. She shut her eyes and let her head fall back, feeling the breeze play through her hair.

"Oh, good evening, miss!" said an unfamiliar male voice. "I wasn't expecting to meet anyone else out here."

Her eyes flew open, and the sight of the young man's elegant clothes confirmed her fears. He was an aristocrat, and she'd been caught at something that could lose her her job. She scrambled to her feet and dropped into an off-balance curtsey. "I'm terribly sorry, sir—" (Was that even his correct title? Who was he? Should she recognize him?) "I, ah, I'll go now, I'll never come in here again, I promise—"

The man laughed a little, not unkindly. "You can stay. Don't worry, I won't tell anybody." He had a slight, unfamiliar accent.

Melia glanced nervously back at the palace. "The rest of them aren't coming out, then?"

"No, I've just slipped away for a moment to get some air. That banquet hall is dreadfully stifling, you know."

"I've never been in there, actually."

"You're not missing anything, I promise you. And to be honest, all these big, noisy parties with half the kingdom in attendance..." He waved a hand wearily in the direction of the banquet hall. "I could do without them."

"Oh, me too," Melia said. "I would rather be out here, with the trees."

"You like trees?"

"I grew up in a forest, and they were sort of like my sisters." Melia realized only after she'd said it that it was not the sort of thing humans normally said, but ah, well. If he wanted to laugh at her, let him.

His demeanor remained perfectly serious, however. "You must know a lot about them, then."

"Well, yes..."

"Perhaps you could tell me about some of these?" He made an expansive gesture, as if to indicate the whole of the garden. "I must admit, it's an area that's been neglected in my education."

"I'd be happy to!" she said, looking around to find a promising place to start. "This one's a rowan..."

She took him around the garden, explaining the plants as she went ("They should make you head gardener," he said), and in return he told her about some of the unusual trees he'd seen on his travels. Trees as wide around as the witch's old cottage, towering into the clouds; trees that seemed to grow upside-down, their roots reaching into the sky; trees with rainbow-colored bark.

"I would love to see them someday," Melia said, gazing at nothing in particular as she tried to picture them.

"Maybe you will," said the young man. "Anyway, I'm sure they'll be missing me at the banquet, but it's been a pleasure talking to you. Could we meet again tomorrow night?"

"Of course!" she said, and then it occurred to her that all the time they'd been talking, they hadn't been introduced. "Ah, my name is Melia, by the way. What's yours?"

The man laughed. "I'm Kai."

Melia stared. "Not Prince Kai of Athysia?"

"The very same."

"But—"

"Until tomorrow," Prince Kai said, bowing.

"Until tomorrow," Melia repeated.

* * *

The prince's visit stretched from one week to two, then to three, then to a full month, and Melia began to think she would miss him when he left. He was fascinating to talk to—he'd travelled to all sorts of distant lands and met all kinds of people, and gotten into more than a few scrapes (many of which seemed like they might have been avoided had he been a little more cautious, but Melia wasn't going to say that to him). She felt like talking to him made her tiny world a little bigger.

He'd insisted, though, that she shouldn't tell anyone, and though she understood, it hurt that she couldn't tell Bianca. Bianca hadn't said anything about her nightly disappearances, but Melia knew that she noticed, and it might have been her imagination, but Bianca seemed a little quieter, a little more distant. Perhaps, Melia thought, she'd tell Bianca everything once Prince Kai had gone back to his own kingdom—how would he know, then?

Eventually the time for his departure drew near, and on the last day before he was to leave, Melia met him in the garden as usual.

"I'm sure you've heard rumors," he said, with no preamble, "that I might marry the Queen."

"Of course," she said.

"You should know that today she made me her formal proposal."

"Congratulations!" Melia said. It did seem a bit of a shame, since Prince Kai seemed so nice and the Queen, Melia had heard, was a bit temperamental, but it seemed it would be good for their kingdoms, and for all Melia knew, the Queen was lovely once you got to know her. Melia had never even seen her up close.

Prince Kai looked away. "I turned her down."

"What?"

"I know it's not the lot of the royalty to marry for love, but still..." He paused, gazing down at Melia. "I couldn't bring myself to marry her when my heart belongs to another."

"Do you have a sweetheart back home, then?" Melia asked.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "No, what I'm trying to tell you is... it's _you_ , Melia. I'm in love with _you_. And if you'd have me, I would marry you, regardless of your station."

Melia stared at him. She hadn't been prepared for this.

"We could travel the world," he said. "Take a tour of all the most interesting plant life. Come on, what do you say?"

What _could_ she say? He was a prince, and he was handsome, and he seemed to care about her. She enjoyed talking to him and would be sad to never see him again. But that wasn't _love_ , was it? She couldn't imagine herself holding him, kissing him, spending the rest of her life with him. If she had been the princess and he the servant, she didn't think she would give up her position to be with him. She _liked_ him, and she didn't want to hurt him, but—

"I can't," she said. "I'm sorry, I can't."

"What is it? Are you worried about what people will say? About how we'll live if my parents cut me off? About—"

She shook her head. "You can't marry the Queen because you don't love her. I can't marry you because I don't love you."

She'd been expecting him to react with some sort of sadness or pain, but mostly he looked disbelieving. "Are you sure?" he said, after a moment.

"I'm sure," she said.

"But I turned down the _Queen_ for you!"

"I didn't ask you to," Melia said, her sympathy shading into anger. "You didn't even ask me if you should, and if you had, I would have told you not to."

He sank onto a bench, looking defeated, and there was a long pause, in which neither of them met the other's eyes. "Well," he said at last, "I guess I have one hell of an apology to make to the Queen."

* * *

Melia never learned whether or not the prince had tried to make amends with the Queen; either way, the damage was done. To be rejected for a servant was an insult she could not overlook, and it didn't take her long to find out exactly who that servant was. The declaration of war with Athysia came on the same day that two guards arrived to escort Melia from the palace.

Melia had been in the middle of washing a window when they appeared, and they seized her by the arms before she could comprehend what was happening.

"Her Majesty says," one of them told her, "that we're to take you outside of the city, and that if you ever show your face in the capital again, she'll have you executed."

"You should appreciate her generosity," the other guard put in, and laughed unpleasantly.

Melia didn't struggle; she had no chance of fighting them, she knew. "I have a friend who works here," she said. "She'll want to know where I am. Can I tell her—"

"We're going now," said the first guard. "You stick around any longer, the Queen might change her mind, start feeling a little less merciful."

"But I..."

"Enough," said the second guard, and then nodded to the first. The two of them headed for the door, and Melia had no choice but to go along with them.

They marched her out to the edge of town and left her, with only the clothes on her back, to find her own way home.

* * *

The witch's cottage was empty. Perhaps she'd moved on to a different forest. Melia hoped so, at least. She didn't like to think about the alternative.

Melia couldn't very well go into town to buy anything, but the cottage had a well and a small garden, and the witch had left a few traps out for small woodland creatures, and that was enough to get by. Melia sleepwalked through the motions necessary to keep herself alive—eating, resting, washing now and then—but mostly she thought of Bianca. Was she alive? Was she well? Did she think Melia had abandoned her? If only Melia had some way to get a message to her...

Melia wasn't a spirit anymore, and she had no more powers than any other human, but still, she found herself trying to send out a silent call: _I'm here in the forest, waiting for you. Please, if you live through this, come find me. I love you._ Silly, really—of course there was no way Bianca could hear it. But it was all she could do.

As the days passed in solitude and monotony, it began to seem as though the world had forgotten about her, or at least decided to leave her alone. She began to think that perhaps things would be all right, and slowly, she let herself enjoy things again. She cleaned the cottage from top to bottom. She found some bits and pieces of fabric to repair her ragged dress. She set aside a corner of the garden to plant some flowers. In the afternoons, when the weather was nice, she sat outside in the garden and read the witch's books. Perhaps, she thought, there was something in there that would tell her how to speak to tree spirits again, and then she would have some company. The spirits had never been much for talking to one another, when she'd been one—they'd preferred silent companionship, which was probably for the best when you were rooted to the spot and could only interact with the same few people all the time—but they'd always enjoyed the witch's visits. If she could pick up where the witch had left off... she could live with that. Even if Bianca never came, she could live with that.

And then one night, as she was drawing water from the well, she heard twigs snapping behind her. Footsteps. She spun around. "Bianca-" she began.

But the black-clad blonde woman walking towards her was a stranger.

The woman made a quick motion with her hand, and Melia felt a sudden pain in her chest, knocking the breath out of her, and she almost thought it was in her mind—the pain of having her hopes dashed—until she looked down and saw the handle of the knife protruding from her chest.

 _Oh,_ she thought dully, as she stumbled back a step and fell into the well.

There was a sound of hurried footsteps retreating into the distance.

Floating in the darkness of the well, the icy water soaking into her skin and numbing the pain of the knife wound, Melia looked up at the sliver of the sky she could see. It was clear, and the moon was just visible over the lip of the well. _I'm sorry, Bianca,_ she thought. _I wish I could have seen you again. I hope, wherever you are, that you're safe and happy. If I could only be reborn... if I could..._

Her head felt heavy—her whole body felt heavy—and she couldn't complete the thought. Her eyelids began to drift closed. The full moon was bright over the lip of the well.

"Melia?"

Was the moon talking to her?

Another, brighter light shone over the edge of the well. "Melia? Can you hear me? Are you... all right?"

Bianca. It was Bianca, after all.

Melia tried to call out to her, but all that came out was a wordless, strangled sound.

Bianca said something more, but it was hard to pay attention. Though Melia fought to keep her eyes open, to say something, to stay alert, in the end the cold seeping through her body was too much, and the world sank into blackness.

* * *

Melia woke up, which, to tell the truth, she hadn't expected.

She was on the bed in the cottage, warm, dry, and without a knife in her chest, though the place where the knife had been still throbbed dully.

Bianca was sitting next to the bed, and when she realized that Melia was awake, a smile crept slowly across her face, like she couldn't quite believe her luck and didn't want to celebrate too soon. "It worked!" she said. "I didn't know—I found these things labeled healing charms in a drawer, but I'd never used anything like that before, so—"

At the same time, Melia began, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to leave you like that... I..."

"Shh," Bianca said. "Don't strain yourself. Anyway, it's all right."

"I thought you might never find me, and I would never... we would never..." Melia trailed off. There was too much to say, and she didn't have the energy to say it.

Bianca took Melia's hand in hers. "I will always find you," she said. "No matter where you go."

And then she leaned down and, very, very gently, kissed her.


End file.
